DESCRIPTION:
Below is a part-summary, part-paraphrase in modern language of the famous poem "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock."

"Let us go, you and I--let's split this dull tea party." That's what I should say to that pretty woman sitting on the couch.

If I had the courage, I could say to her, "Let's go where people in our social class normally never go--that's what I should tell her. Let's visit a seedy part of town where people have real lives instead of the dull and phony lives we rich folks have. I sometimes walk through poor neighborhoods just to study the people there--they seem more real, more interesting."

I hate this tea party--the idle chitchat, with nothing real or meaningful being said!

Look at those ladies over there, going from the parlor to the music room. They are talking about a Renaissance artist while passing each other in the hallway. They think they are so smart, but their words are all so superficial!

Wow, look at the fog. Reminds me of a cat. I have a good imagination! But I'm afraid to express my cat analogy. I'll just keep it in my head. People might laugh at me if I say it aloud. They'll think I'm weird.

Time passes slowly at this tea party...there is always time to prepare a phony face so I can meet the other phony faces here, the other fake selves...just facades, nothing real.

Do I dare do anything bold here--or bold with my life? The years are passing, and I don't seem to be living a very exciting life. More years will pass. I can see how I'll be. Bald, too thin! I dread what they'll say about me.

Do I dare say anything of substance? Do I dare do anything different? People will think I'll being too bold--as if I'm disturbing the universe. I already know these types of people. I know these tea parties too well. Boring and phony! If I try anything new, I might disturb people. I might be rejected by my peers. I dare not take risks.

That woman on the couch looks pretty in that shawl--fancy bracelets, I see. She's hot. I like her perfume. I think she said something to me--something like "How are you?" Maybe she's inviting me to have a conversation! But if I talk to her, I'll be expected to keep the conversation trivial. Chitchat is what people expect at tea parties.

Suppose I try to say something of substance, something deep? She might reject me. She might say, "That is not what I meant at all when I asked 'How are you?'" She might say, "Listen, buddy, keep it superficial. I wasn't inviting you to be serious! Don't you know how these tea parties work? Talk about trivial things, ok?"

I should have been born a crab or lobster since I can't function as a human. Too hard, too complicated! I prefer the ocean.

Is it worth risking conversation with a pretty woman if in the end I'm misunderstood? Do I dare show the real me--like having a magic lantern throwing my nerves up on a movie screen? Too public. No, I can't risk it.

Would it have been worthwhile if--well, it is impossible to say just what I mean! My words are inadequate...

I'm not bold. I'm not like Hamlet, who has noble qualities and eventually takes action. I'm never decisive.

I'm just an ordinary Joe--not important. I wonder if people think Joe is my first name? I use the name "J. Alfred Prufrock" since it is fashionable to do this with a name. My friend F. Scott Fitzgerald is doing the same. Ironic that "rock" is in my last name. I don't feel solid as a rock.

Do I dare eat a peach and get stains on my shirt? Life is full of dangers like that. I'm not bold at all.

I want to escape to my fantasy world of mermaids. They enjoy freedom on the water. How I envy them! They are singing like those Sirens in The Odyssey, but I don't think those mermaids will sing to me since I'm probably not important enough to interest them (which is weird since they are mermaids in my own world of fantasy--you would think I could control them a little). I need to work on self-esteem.

Ostensible Setting or Scenario: Prufrock is at a tea party ("taking of a toast and tea...marmalade...the teacups...") in an upper class home ("among the porcelain") in a city with oyster-shells (Boston?). Women are in the room. But that is not the real setting, in a sense.

Real setting: we are inside Prufrock's head (stream-of-consciousness technique--that means random and confused thoughts)

Time: "soft October night" in the era of the magic lantern (forerunner of slide projector), perhaps 1900-1910

Protagonist: Prufrock is well-dressed (morning coat, high collar, rich necktie), perhaps in his 20s (he fears growing old, which suggests he isn't old yet--thinks he'll be bald in the future)